


The Enemy of My Enemy Ain't My Friend

by catboyrights



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Just Two Dudes Being Guys, M/M, Oneshot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Oral Sex, sex as payment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 18:42:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12216672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catboyrights/pseuds/catboyrights
Summary: aka, 'I Slaughtered the Enemy at Forlorn Hope and All I Got Was This Blow Job'





	The Enemy of My Enemy Ain't My Friend

“Face it sug’, deep down yer happy as hell them assholes is outta the way admit it.”

The courier was always so damn flippant Dead Sea should have known he wouldn’t understand why there was almost a pang of regret when he heard that Forlorn Hope had been dealt with. It’s just you play nightstalker and molerat—well it was like they were both nightstalkers in this case, nightstalker and nightstalker was more fitting—with a group for so long, once the game was over you can't help but miss it.

“An' here I thought my ass was gonna get some damn respect, all comin’ back here like I’m some big dick hero… Really gonna hurt my pride here baby,” the courier says, an over the top show of hurt. It was time like these Dead Sea was hardly even sure he liked the man outside of his loose ties to the Legion. Scratch that—he could safely say he didn't even care for him with whatever misplaced sense of comradery he held toward him. Not the first man he’s hated and hardly the last, far from some unseen reveal.

They were just a clash of personalities that didn't match up, plain and simple. The courier, as otherworldly as the whole of the Mojave seemed to paint him, was too arrogant than his reality warranted. Didn't even have the good sense to realise he was an idiot and, as someone who didn't mind his men a little dimmer than most, that was the worst part of it. Would have been fine if he could keep his mouth shut Dead Sea supposes, but since his first visit there had been a theory floating around Nelson the courier would die—tragically even—if ever there was even a brief moment of silence.

As it stood, the man was a failure to everything it was Caesar stood for. Opinionated in the worst way, blatantly wrong in them too mind you, and far too soft for the importance that had been placed upon him. Suited more to the whores on the Strip, than in a war camp—a shame everyone seemed to see something in him the Decanus couldn't.

Still, as bitter as he was to admit it, the courier had done more than enough when it came to calling his ill-conceived bluff. A reward—simply for a lack of a better term, he had not done anything to warrant such a luxury—was more than due. Can't let any private feelings get in the way of what could very leniently be called a success.

“Hey, don't you look at me like that darlin’. Did my very best and came runnin’ straight to ya like a good boy,” he says with that fake little boyish smile he always tried to put on when scolded. Two can play this game if that's what he was so sorely after.

“Oh? And what was it exactly you were expecting? You seem so confident I’m sure there must have been just hundred of things swimming around in that head of yours.” 

He wasn't going to waste his time masking any displeasure; it was an innocent enough question at a glance. The man was slave to vice and caps, and only one Dead Sea could offer with any sense of good conscious. The courier—it was times like the he wished he paid attention when he'd introduced himself; never thought he would have stuck around long enough to warrant it—had an awful look spread on his face. Same one he always seemed to have around Vulpes, wide-eyed and hungry. Not proper in the least, no sense of decorum to him. Didn't trust someone who seemed so open with his intentions.

“Well, I can think’ve a few things us two could work out here…” the courier starts, wrapping an arm Dead Sea's midsection—doesn’t mean anything, it was probably the highest he could reach—lowering his voice to a husky whisper. “Most of ‘em you boys ain't gonna be too keen on, thinkin' on it, so I ain't gonna push fer ‘em. I’m sure there has to be _something_ you an' I can come to an agreement on, innit there? After all, yer a good guy ain't you?”

He grazes a hand delicately up Dead Sea's arm leaving a strange prickling sense in its wake. A lazy path, just enough to perk hairs and send a certain message the Decanus wasn't sure he meant, that wouldn't cease. He should have moved when he had the chance, but a part of him wanted to see just what it was the courier thought he would get from a show like this. The man was either _extremely_ forward or had no idea just what personal space was.

“And what exactly were you hoping to achieve with this,” he says, gesturing toward the hand at his arm and letting the implication hang. Perhaps not his smoothest move, but it didn't matter. This wasn't his play after all. Why should he try at being some slick talker for a man he didn't even care for?

“Hey, don't you act like I ain't caught you lookin' ‘fore, hon. I’m just bettin' it all on red, iffin ya will, and hopin’ I make bank.” The courier just gives a small shrug at this, resuming his mindless work. He was so damn full of himself. Sure he had a certain magnetism to him, but certainly not the looks to back it all up. All talk and no pretty face to make it worth anything, a true pity. Could hurt Dead Sea preferred them cordial—dumber than a sack of rocks and cordial.

“I have _**not**_ been staring at you,” Dead Sea spits, far too quick to ever come off convincing. Rare, it seemed, for him to be as off balance as he was now. Must have just been the shock at the way the courier held himself, that was it. Not a possibility he had gotten the best of him this easy. The Decanus was one chosen by Caesar not some charming—no, pitiful—wretch who managed to worm his way in at a time of need. He was better than this.

“Y’have too, an’ don't you play coy with me. I know when a man’s eyes make a beeline fer my behind—not that I’d blame ya here one of my best features. Jus' cain't even bend over to mend my boot without you catchin’ yerself a lil’ looky-loo. Don't feel bad sug’, tha’s you and half the fuckin’ Mojave.” 

This… this caused that raspy, smoke-worn laugh to bubble up slow. Not that the Decanus would admit it aloud, but it always did something for him. Sounded like a fistfight and made him weak in the knees—simply a turn of phrase, he would rather die than admit to anything of the sort. It was just that, although minor, perhaps the courier had some _miniscule_ high points.

“I. Have. Not.” Each word a hard stop. He had, of course he had. Wasn't as if he didn't have eyes, a cock, and the time. Still it was cruel to put a man on the spot like this. Not fair in the least.

“So you sayin’ you ain't want no part’a this?” the courier sighs, loosening his grip around Dead Sea and casting a sad little glance his way. “You sure ‘bout that hon? ‘Cause the way I see it there are plenny’a men who’d kill ta be in yer shoes.”

Figures he would answer a bluff with a bluff. Just a reoccurring theme in their relationship it seemed. Didn't help there was something in the way he had to work to look up at Dead Sea, just enough to see the splattering of blood that still laid across his face yet everything else in its place. Though, not an especially miraculous feat when everything else was expected to be disheveled. Still, there was a curiosity piqued and that was more than could be said about most.

Someone might have found it handsome, in some roguish way sure, but not the Decanus. Should take more than the death of a few profligates to get him hot under the collar so to speak. Did that stop him from taking the opportunity to toss his helmet and all that came with off to the side? No, but simply easier to get them out of the way early if things were to continue on as they were. Being safe that's all it was, nothing more.

“That's really all you want?” he says, voice low to match the courier's before him, pulling him flush against his side, hand drifting down his hip. “Shouldn't surprise me all you would need was a shallow play to your ego.”

Never knew how it was to properly hold himself in situations such a these. Maybe the courier would respond well to a bit of acid? He’s made worse moves than this, he thinks, leaning down close. A flash of a challenging grin, a tight squeeze to the best of flesh soft against his palm… Enough to dare him to make the next move. That's all he needed.

Now he was blameless. Whatever it was to happen next lay squarely in the other man’s hand. If he were to hypothetically fuck the courier, well, he was simply caught up in the moment. What would anyone expect him to do? Not very often it seemed, that opportunities such as these were an option for him. Can't speak ill about him for seizing the chance! It wasn't as if this situation was something he’s ever given any consideration before. Wasn't as if he was _looking_ for the excuse.

Lying, it seems, is not his strongest suit.

“Lissen, I’m ain't a complicated man and my needs ain't either. Now iffin I’m readin' this scene right, and trust me that I _am_ , why the hell don't you put yer money where yer mouth is then Decanus? ‘Less you wanna find somethin’ else ya can do with that perty little thing.”

He couldn't have assumed that was a winning line. It did the job, sure, but not well. An interesting turn of events, the courier being just as fumbling in this as he. Almost a disappointment even. Never seemed like it was too big of a leap in logic all that posturing was earned, though this was just as common among the dissolute as anything else. Fake it until you make it they say.

“You jus’ gone stand there lookin' cute baby? Do know what the fuck to do right; not that I mind showin’ ya.” Where there man got the nerve to speak to him like this Dead Sea hadn’t a clue. Maybe the famed shots to his head damaged the part of him that had a hand on his damn manners. It would be worth it though, to bear with it, not like it didn't tickle him in just the faintest way. He could work with it.

Steeling himself, he gave an almost hesitant kiss, not sensual and precise as planned but this was proving a point not making a move. It would suffice. It wasn't as vile, the kiss, as the Decanus would have imagined. Rough, smoke tinged lips felt almost natural against his, and the harsh scratch of hair against his chin made his head swim. Deepening the kiss, a small slip of tongue through parted lips? He could use this.

They shuffle now, chest to chest—well as close it was they could—rather than the awkward angle they were forced into side by side. His hand wraps around the couriers nape, moving up to bundle itself in the wiry russet hair that lay there. A hand in return latches works itself under his tunica, groping thoughtlessly at whatever they could catch be it a brush of the thigh, a hand on his ass. Let him do as he pleased, so long as he knew for the moment it was Dead Sea that was in charge.

The courier breaks the kiss with a laugh. Not a good sign, but can take it in stride.

“God, next yer gonna fake a yawn an’ pull yer arm ‘cross me, yeah? Thinkin’ too much here baby. You ain't never been one for a cheap fuck, huh?” He says, trying to reach his hands towards Dead Sea’s shoulders. Just enough pressure to signal the Decanus should get down on his knees. Add impatient to the ever growing list of the courier’s “charms”, not that it was all that surprising. Wasn't as if he wasn't fully welcoming of it now. Yes, Dead Sea was on his knees at the other man’s suggestion, sure, but this was his choice. He was still fully in control of this.

“Y’know, really more of reward fer **_you_** iffin ya think about it,” the courier starts, as nimble fingers began to tug away at the buttons of his fly. How he could be so comfortable running around in something so confining, the legionary didn't know. At least it gave his mind something else to mull over rather than his endless stream of chatter.

Not that the words were distracting him, no never. Didn't want to desperately turn them into breaths of strangled praise, that just wasn't him! He loathed the courier, he thinks to himself as he slowly began to work the leather free from the courier’s hips. If it looked as if he just about licked his lips as the man’s erection sprang free, well that must have just been a trick of eye. Really, that was all he would swear it.

“Name’s Tartuffe, by the way hon,” he drawls, breathy as Dead Sea begins to give flat swipes, light kisses, to the underside of his shaft. “Jus’ seem like you’s the kinda guy what likes a name t’go along with a cock.”

Got him there.

A tentative swirl of the tongue to the head; just getting his bearings down, that's all. Tartuffe… not a particularly strong name though that suits him even if it wasn't one Dead Sea would have picked himself. Slow, languid stripes down his length, just enough to elicit a sharp take of breath from above. All because of him, only giving the courier what he thought was deserved. A certain power in merely teasing him, working him up with only the slightest of work.

He takes his time mouthing his way up the courier’s cock, the thick scent of grime causing something to bubble up inside him. To be expected, but still it comes as a surprise to him. Never much thought about anything other than the build to the situation much less what he himself would actually do. This is in his hands, but he'll sit content until perhaps a suggestion came forward.

“See,” Tartuffe breathes heavily, “Knew y’were good for somethin’ other than standin’ around lookin’ all prissy.” A hand tangles itself as best it can into the legionary’s cropped blonde hair, pulling hard as he begins to slowly bob up and down the length. “Damn you oughta see yerself, much prettier down there; don’t know why in the hell you even get up sug’.” He wishes he could say he hated it, but each sound that comes tumbling out of the man’s mouth is like a shock down his spine.

Impatiently Tartuffe bucks his hips, a heady moan passing from his lips as Dead Sea gags against his cock much to his chagrin. “Ain’t you just such a good boy?” His voice was too far off, breathy, too have any of the the intended bite. Nevertheless it spurred Dead Sea to take him deeper, call him on this like the courier had called him out too many times before. It wasn't a selfish move. Not doing it because he craved more of it, needed overwhelmed moans and suffocated praise to fall carelessly from Tartuffe’s lips until it suffocated him. Just something about being on his knees, the courier fucking his face with little mind that brought a particular peace.

“Not too fuckin’ bad, baby, not bad at all,” Tartuffe sighs heavy, pulling his cock out of the Decanus’ mouth with a wet pop, tracing the plump swell of lip with his leaking tip. Had to nearly stop himself from looking up when a smug smile began to spread across the courier’s face. Unexpected, though he pulled out for something. He didn't mind, it was more a mild curiosity. 

“And you paused, why?” Just the courier’s impetuous nature rubbing off on him. Dead Sea was enjoying this, but it wasn't as if he needed it. The courier seemed to just bring out the worst in him, didn't he? Oh well, back to light strikes and kisses down his shaft. Teasing, teasing, teasing… watch him grunt and squirm. Maybe he could get him to beg, awfully appealing thought that was. 

“Why? Cain't a man jus' enjoy a good thang? Yer fault fer makin' it all nice fer me, had t’know I’d get greedy,” he says, hands tangling harder in blonde hair. A beautiful, dull pain of nails in his scalp as he gives a soft swirl the the tip before slowly taking him back into his mouth. Can't be too long until the courier would buck his hips once again, set the pace for himself but Dead Sea will take whatever time he has setting it tortuously slow. It's his right at this point.

Can't be upset with this turn of events. More unexpected than anything, but it wasn't as if this scenario wasn't something he’d imagined—more than once even—before. Not the most proper way to go about the situation though he wasn't necessarily complaining about it. Far from it; Tartuffe had him pegged from the start, this was in a way his own reward. Just prickly when it came down to showing an interest was all. A strange guilt from wasting time that could be better spent, time he didn't feel he had the right to if he had to pin it down. Well, he’ll deal with the consequence later, too good of a deal to complicate with rigid regulation.

With a hitch of the hips the courier grows rougher, each breath a mixture of vague praise and half curses. Not that Dead Sea was any better off, saliva pooling down his chin, small moans trying to escape at the feeling in his throat. Something he usually didn't abide however it may have made him feel now swallowing whatever he could manage. The things he’d allow some fool to do to him… Maybe Tartuffe liked ‘em dumb himself. 

This was good. Great in fact, peachy keen. This was exactly what he had needed. Don't dwell on the fact a fool, a profligate had what he was tasked to do, but couldn't. No need to think about the dry sickness he’d felt come in waves when the courier told him he had cleared everyone at Forlorn Hope. Everything in this situation was exactly as it needed to be; no place for the terrifying feeling of regret. Too soon for that.

Better to focus on the way the courier looked, standing above him eyes glazed over and nearly spent. Wouldn't be too forward to say he was good at what he did, proof was there in front of him. Try and hollow his cheeks out, work the tongue he’d woefully left lolling there and the man would be putty in his damn hands. A far more comfortable thought, Tartuffe coming, than the other things that came rising up.

He could say it was a disappointment when the courier finally comes with a strained grunt soon after. A couple of desperate, shallow pumps before finishing in Dead Sea’s mouth, pulling out just soon enough to leave a trail of spit and come from his lips. Once he pushes down the glaring faults, it was about the best choice he’s made this week, hands down. Turned out to be mutually beneficial, more than he could say about most things. Get rid of a problem and get some much needed stress relief, helpful enough.

“Know, y’could’ve done something with yerself. I’m jus' looking t’get mine of course, so it ain't like I minded but…” He trails off, bending over to rummage through a pack he dropped to the floor, throwing a tattered shirt Dead Sea’s way. His voice was still hoarse, much less abrasive now though maybe it was just in his head. “Help ya clean yerself up, since I’m bein’ such a damn gentleman. Goes without sayin’ I ain’t gonna need that’n back.”

“Got ourselves a real charmer here, though I would say it would be more fair if you did the clean up _yourself_ though who am I? Really thought I would let you off with just a dirty rag Courier? You should know better.” His tone was teasing and light, unrecognizable as himself. Tartuffe’s fault, clearly a bad influence on an otherwise moral man. He deserves this though, so rare it was the Decanus indulged in selfish fantasy. Make what he could of the small ones he would allow. Definitely going to file this one away regardless.

“An' who the hell would'a pegged you as a bossy one, ‘specially when I’m givin' ya some solid proof y’gotta blow a damn legend… Some kids jus' cain't accept a gift.” He clucks his tongue, but bends over to oblige swiping a tongue to lap up the mess at his chin. Swallows it up like the act itself isn't any different than anything else he’s been tasked to do. Leave it to him to turn something Dead Sea would hold onto for sometime into just another chore, though the courier kisses him hard and slips in a tongue, making him swallow whatever remained and Dead Sea leans into it. This he can almost forgive him for, a shame for it to go to waste.

He takes the discarded rag from Dead Sea’s hand before moving himself back upright, wiping his mouth and letting it fall to the floor carelessly. Offers a hand to help him up, though the Decanus declines. Give himself time to get up, he was content to be down on his knees for a while longer.

“Y’know, and don't you take this the wrong way or nothin’, but all’s I was looking t’do was get that blade a’yers you know that right?” Tartuffe says, shooting Dead Sea a look as he righted the buttons of his fly. Come again? “Figured I’d get real flirty and grab th’ damn thing off ya ‘fore ya realised what it was you was doin’—not that I’d change a thing here, don't get me wrong. Guess I’m just irresistible.”

He moves to grab his pack, check over himself before he got along to whatever it was he was wont to do, leaving Dead Sea to process what exactly it was that came out of the idiot’s mouth. Couldn't have possibly said this wasn't what he was angling for, that would be ridiculous even for the courier. No, it was obvious he had misheard him. If he wanted the Liberator he could have just asked, sat tight. Dead Sea was planning on it from the start. Where did he get off—well, other than the obvious answer.

“That’s _the_ worst—” Dead Sea stops at the heavy sound of boots on wood. The courier—Tartuffe—pauses, dangling himself half-way through the door to light up a smoke. He’ll let it slide now, it isn't as if he is his problem any longer. Let him poison himself as he saw fit, Dead Sea no longer cared.

“Oh an' by the Decanus, I will be findin' me a way to get that fancy little thing’a yers, don’t you worry.”

Dead Sea was going to gut him one day.


End file.
